


The Tragic Story Of Romeo and Juliet

by carolinecrane



Category: My Bodyguard (1980)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-10
Updated: 2011-01-10
Packaged: 2017-10-14 15:39:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,131
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/150828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/carolinecrane/pseuds/carolinecrane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Ricky forms an opinion of Romeo and Juliet and gives Clifford a lesson in the difference between love and passion.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Tragic Story Of Romeo and Juliet

"Romeo and Juliet were a coupla morons."

Clifford looked up from his book, a bemused grin on his face as he watched Ricky's forehead furrow. It was the first time either of them had spoken in half an hour, and Clifford was grateful for the momentary distraction from the essay they were supposed to be writing. "Why do you say that?"

Ricky looked at him as though the answer should be obvious, but Clifford just grinned back at him until Ricky shook his head and gestured toward the book lying open in front of him. "Look what happened to them. Romeo kills a guy, then they run off to get married and they end up killing themselves. What's the point?"

"Love," Clifford answered, shrugging at the skeptical look Ricky shot him. "Hey, don't look at me. That's what Miss Jump said."

"She said 'passion'," Ricky corrected him, a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth when Clifford rolled his eyes.

"Fine, passion. Whatever. It's all the same thing."

He did his best to sound annoyed, but it was hard when Ricky was wearing one of his rare open smiles. They'd only been friends for a little over a month, but they'd spent enough time together for Clifford to be able to sense Ricky's mood just by studying his expression. The weird thing was that his favorite part of the time they spent together was this; sitting at the table on his patio, books spread around them as they did their homework together. He knew soon it would be too cold to work outside after school, but for now it was perfect.

Lately he'd had the feeling that anyplace with Ricky would be perfect, though, and he wasn't sure what to do about it. He'd gone over every possible scenario in his head at least ten times, and although he liked some of them more than others, he couldn't be sure how Ricky would react if Clifford said something. Normally he wouldn't have a problem with showing Ricky what he had in mind; he could usually convince Ricky to go along with something if he thought it was the right thing to do, but this time he wasn't so sure.

It would probably help if he had any idea at all what he wanted. The truth was that he wasn't exactly sure beyond spending as much time as he could just watching Ricky smile. He'd never get tired of that smile, the one that lit up his best friend's eyes and took years off Ricky's face. Even though he was only a year older than Clifford Ricky had a way of looking positively ancient sometimes, and even though Clifford knew why he couldn't help wanting to erase all the pain that made Ricky look so tired.

Or maybe he just liked the idea of being the one that made Ricky smile; he had to admit that to himself, at least, even if he never admitted it to anyone else.

"It's not the same."

"What?" he asked, frowning as he tried to remember where their conversation had left off.

"Love and passion. It's not the same thing. Miss Jump said so. Geez, Cliff, for such a smart guy you sure don't pay much attention in English."

Clifford opened his mouth and then closed it again, his automatic denial dying on his lips. He didn't want to lie, but he couldn't admit to his best friend that he spent most of that class stealing glances at Ricky over his shoulder.

"Okay, if you're so smart, what's the difference then?"

Ricky shrugged and let the book fall closed. "I'm not smart. I just listen in class."

As soon as Ricky looked away Clifford regretted saying it. He knew Ricky didn't give himself much credit where school was concerned, and he tried not to make Ricky feel self-conscious if he could help it. He thought about making a joke out of it, but he had a feeling that would just make it worse. Apologizing wouldn't help either; all he could really do was pretend he didn't notice Ricky's sudden mood shift and press him for the answer until he forgot why he was brooding.

"Come on, I'm serious. What's the difference?"

It took a minute for Ricky to look at him again, but when he did Clifford could tell Ricky was trying to decide if he was really serious or if he was just messing around. Being patient while Ricky made up his mind was one of the hardest things Clifford had ever done, but he'd learned over the past few weeks that it was the only way to get Ricky to talk sometimes. And he liked getting Ricky to talk; it didn't matter if he was talking about his brother or his bike, Clifford just liked hearing the sound of his voice.

"The difference," Ricky finally began, leaning a little closer to Clifford and picking up his copy of _Romeo and Juliet_ again, "is sex."

That definitely hadn't been meant for him, but Clifford's whole body blushed anyway at the sound of that word coming out of Ricky's mouth. It wasn't an embarrassed blush; he'd been around his father and his grandmother long enough to be used to the subject of sex. No, it was more like a warmth that started at his toes and spread through his whole body, intensifying just a little when he registered the way Ricky was watching him.

"Sex."

"Yeah." And now Ricky looked embarrassed, making Clifford want to say the word again just to see if he could make Ricky blush. Instead he grinned and shook his head, pretending he was laughing at Ricky's logic instead of smiling at the cute and confused expression marring his normally stoic features.

"How do you figure that?"

"It's just like Miss Jump said. Love's when you wanna be around somebody all the time, can't get enough of them, wanna read them poetry and buy them stuff. That sorta thing. Passion doesn't have anything to do with love. It's more like that feeling you get when you see something you really want, like your blood's getting hot and your skin tingles…"

"Sounds more like a disease," Clifford interjected, trying not to grin when Ricky shot him a disapproving look. "Okay, okay, sorry. But how's that different from love? You get the same feeling from love, don't you?"

"No." Ricky shifted restlessly and set his book down on the table again, evidently forgetting they were supposed to be writing an essay on the play for school the next day. He seemed far more interested in convincing Clifford of the difference between love and passion, and as long as he was determined Clifford wasn't about to try and stop him. "Look, isn't there some girl at school you like?"

Clifford tilted his head a little as though he was considering the question, wondering briefly if this was skirting too close to dangerous territory. Ricky had said 'girl', though, and he could answer that specific question with complete honesty. "No."

"Come on, Cliff, I'm not gonna tell anybody. What about Shelley? She seems pretty nice."

Clifford shook his head, his smile wavering a little as he wondered just how much time Ricky had spent thinking about Shelley. His best friend had never shown the slightest interest in any of the girls in their class, and until now Clifford hadn't let himself think about why. He wanted to believe it had something to do with the way Ricky smiled at him, but it was a lot more likely that Ricky just assumed he didn't have a shot with any of them.

"Do you like Shelley?" he blurted out before he could stop himself, cringing when Ricky looked away. Great, now he'd embarrassed his friend; the conversation had already been weird enough, and thanks to him it had just taken an even more uncomfortable turn. He couldn't take it back, though, and now that it was out there he wanted more than anything to know if Ricky had a crush on any of the girls at school. "Well do you?"

"Don't be stupid."

"Why is that stupid?" Clifford asked, suddenly filled with the urge to defend his best friend against himself. Ricky had a lower opinion of himself than anybody at school ever could, and even though part of Clifford was glad he had Ricky all to himself, he couldn't help wishing his friend knew how great he was. Wanting Ricky to himself had never made Clifford feel selfish before, but he'd never stopped to think about the fact that he might not be enough for Ricky. And as much as that thought bothered him, he had to face the fact that it was probably true.

"It just is, alright? Besides, we're not talking about me."

"Then who are we talking about?"

"Romeo and Juliet," Ricky answered, although even he didn't sound so sure of that anymore. "Look, they were fifteen, right? They were just a couple of kids, they didn’t know…"

"Do you like Leilani?" Clifford interrupted. He knew Ricky was trying to get back to the safer subject of homework, but there was no way he could let this go now. Even if he tried it would be there in the back of his mind, nagging at him until he couldn't take it anymore.

"Who?"

"You know, that blonde girl in English. Shelley's friend."

"That chick that hangs out with Moody and his buddies? Cliff, come on."

"What? Everybody thinks she's the prettiest girl in class." Now he knew he was losing it, because he'd never expected to find himself actually trying to convince Ricky that he had a crush on any girl. He knew nothing was going to happen between them, but that didn't mean he wanted to lose his best friend to some girl who'd take up all his time and never appreciate him the way Clifford did.

Ricky shrugged noncommittally and shifted in his chair again, trying and failing to find a comfortable position. It was obvious this whole conversation was starting to make him a little uneasy, and Clifford had the sinking feeling it had something to do with the fact that he'd brought up Leilani. He knew he shouldn't feel so betrayed by something as natural as Ricky developing a hopeless crush, but part of him wanted to grab Ricky by the shoulders and shake him until he saw that there was no way she could ever care about him as much as Clifford did.

"You do," he said, his voice low and surprisingly even considering how hard he was trying not to shake. He knew he should be laughing and teasing Ricky about his crush, but mostly he just felt like throwing up. "This is the kind of thing you're supposed to tell me, you know. I mean we're friends, right? Friends tell each other stuff like this, it's like a rule or something. It's not like you have to worry about me keeping a secret…"

"Clifford."

He stopped talking abruptly at the sound of his name, looking up sharply to find Ricky staring at him as though he'd never seen him before. "What?"

"I don't, okay? Just drop it."

Over the past few weeks Clifford had learned what that tone meant; it meant Ricky was feeling cornered, and he was about two more uncomfortable questions away from making a break for it. Maybe he wouldn't even bother going back through Clifford's place and down the elevators; maybe he'd just climb down the fire escape the way he'd done that one night when Clifford had gotten too close to the truth for Ricky to deal with.

He'd spent that whole night lying awake, staring at his ceiling and picturing Ricky's face as he finally said the words he'd been carrying around for over a year. He'd lived with the guilt of his brother's death for a long time, but he hadn't run away from Clifford after he told him the truth. Well, he had, but he'd come back eventually, and Clifford had decided then that Ricky coming back was all that mattered.

Since that night on the subway platform Ricky hadn't tried to run from him once, but for some reason this conversation was pushing buttons Clifford didn't even know about. He thought he knew everything there was to know about Ricky, but he was starting to wonder what else his best friend was hiding.

"Okay," he said, keeping his voice as gentle as possible so he wouldn't give Ricky an excuse to get up and leave. "I just don't get what the big deal is with liking some girl."

"It's not a big deal. I just don't have a thing for any of the girls in class, okay?"

He could tell by Ricky's tone that that was supposed to signal the end of the conversation, but he'd never been very good at taking a hint. Besides, there was no way he could concentrate on _Romeo and Juliet_ when it was obvious that Ricky was hiding something from him. His mind raced as he ran down the list of girls in the junior and senior classes that Ricky might have thing for; he was supposed to be a junior, after all, so he probably knew a lot of those girls.

Clifford had never seen Ricky so much as take a second look at any of them, though; in fact the only girl he'd ever even heard Ricky talk about…but that was too absurd; there was no way even Ricky would be that pathetic. "Tell me you don't have a thing for Miss Jump."

"What?" That got Ricky's attention, and sure enough he was staring wide-eyed at Clifford with that embarrassed look that meant he was definitely hiding something. "Where the hell did you get that?"

"Well you've practically got her lecture on _Romeo and Juliet_ memorized, for one thing. Plus, she's the only teacher you ever talk about. You don't even mention the auto shop teacher as much as you talk about Miss Jump. I mean I couldn't really blame you; she's nice and all, but Ricky, come on. I know you look older than you are, but I still don't think she's gonna date a sixteen-year-old."

Now Ricky was looking at him like he was wondering if Clifford had taken a blow to the head recently. He half expected Ricky to stand up and start checking him for injuries, and the image that thought evoked made it hard for him not to laugh. Somehow he managed to choke back his laughter, but he couldn't quite erase the smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. And he knew he was going crazy, because there was nothing funny at all about Ricky nursing a crush on their English teacher. Just the thought of it made it a little hard for him to breathe, but he didn't want Ricky to know that.

"Moody must've hit you harder than I thought," Ricky said, but instead of sounding panicked or defensive, his voice was surprisingly calm. Part of Clifford kept expecting him to get up and disappear, but he didn't look like he was in a hurry to go anywhere. "I don't have a thing for any girl, alright?"

"Alright," Clifford echoed before he even realized he'd opened his mouth. There was something about the way Ricky was looking at him that told him that he'd pushed far enough, and trying to press the subject any further was going to complicate things more than either of them were ready for. So Ricky didn't have a crush on a girl; that was more of a relief than he really wanted to admit, but maybe it meant…wait. Ricky said he didn't have a crush on a _girl_ , but he'd never said…oh. _Oh_. "Oh."

"Oh what?" Ricky asked, looking up from whatever he was writing in his notebook to raise an eyebrow at Clifford.

"Nothing," Clifford answered, ignoring Ricky's skeptical expression. Instead he nodded toward the copy of _Romeo and Juliet_ still dangling from Ricky's left hand. "You never finished explaining what you meant about the difference between love and passion."

"That's because you kept interrupting to ask a bunch of dumb questions," Ricky answered, but the smile tugging at the corners of his mouth belied his stern tone. "You don't have to love somebody to want them, right? That's what passion is. The want."

Of course Clifford knew exactly what Ricky was saying; he'd known since the beginning what Ricky was getting at, but one of his favorite things to do was to get Ricky talking about a subject he felt comfortable with. When he was talking about his brother or auto shop he was at his most relaxed, and now Clifford had discovered another subject Ricky had somehow become a sort of expert on.

He wanted to hear more of Ricky's theories; how he came up with them and exactly how much time he'd spent contemplating passion. His heart was pounding hard against his chest, though, and he knew if he tried to ask where Ricky came up with this theory the question would come out all wrong. The best thing to do was stick to a safer subject, at least until he had time to work out whether or not he was imagining things.

"So what does any of this have to do with Romeo and Juliet?"

A long-suffering sigh escaped Ricky's throat, and he set his book down on the table and turned to face Clifford. He leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees, fixing the smaller boy with a serious gaze. "They were just a couple of kids, what did they know about love? For all we know it was just sex, and they would've gotten sick of each other in a couple weeks. So they ended up dead for no reason. Talk about a waste."

He had a feeling Ricky wasn't just talking about Romeo and Juliet anymore. Then again, maybe he'd never been talking about Romeo and Juliet. He'd given the play a lot more thought than Clifford had, though, and it was obvious that the ending bothered him. Clifford had a feeling that had something to do with the way his brother died, but he knew better than to ask. "So you think just because they were kids they couldn't be in love?"

Ricky's lips parted as though he was about to answer, but a moment later he seemed to reconsider whatever he'd been about to say. Instead he shook his head, his gaze shifting away from Clifford to fix on a spot just over his shoulder. "They didn't even know each other. How do you fall for somebody you don't know?"

That was a really good question, and even though he knew firsthand that it was possible Clifford wasn't sure he'd be able to make Ricky understand why. "Maybe they saw something in each other they wanted to know."

He wasn't even sure what affect he'd been going for, but as soon as the words escaped his lips Ricky looked at him again. Only this time there was no hesitation or discomfort in his stare; it was more like he was searching for something in Clifford's expression, almost as though he wasn’t aware that Ricky was staring right back at him. "That's not love either. It's just chemistry."

"It's a start, though." Clifford grinned hopefully when Ricky frowned at him, willing Ricky to see that he wasn't making fun of him. He knew how touchy Ricky could be about certain things, and the last thing he wanted to do was make Ricky so self-conscious that they could never talk about this again. He had a feeling he knew what Ricky wasn't saying, but there was no way he could be sure without coming right out and asking. Besides, just because Ricky had a crush on somebody who wasn't a girl, that didn't automatically mean it was Clifford. It could be anybody; some guy from Ricky's neighborhood, one of the other kids at school…hell, for all Clifford knew Ricky could be nursing some twisted, self-defeating crush on Mike. Or worse, Moody.

 _Please, God, don't let it be Moody,_ he thought, the idea making his stomach twist almost painfully. Ricky was still watching him carefully, and Clifford had a feeling that he wasn't doing as good a job of hiding his emotions as he hoped. If Ricky noticed he didn't say anything, though; instead he straightened up and turned back to the table. "Yeah, it's a start."

Clifford knew from experience that that meant the conversation was tabled for now, but Ricky hadn't taken off so maybe that meant he'd be able to bring it up again later. He had no idea how they'd gotten from a conversation about Romeo and Juliet to _this_ , but he was glad it had happened. He was a little closer to understanding where Ricky was coming from, anyway; at least he thought he was, and with any luck he'd find a way to bring it up again soon. And maybe Ricky was right about Romeo and Juliet – maybe they were a couple of morons, but Clifford wasn't dumb enough to confuse a passing attraction for something real. He knew what he felt for Ricky was more than just chemistry, and as far as he was concerned that was a pretty good start.

~

The subject of passion didn't come up again for the next few days, but on the day Miss Jump handed their essays back Clifford finally saw his chance. They were walking home from school, Ricky ignoring Clifford in favor of the cigarette dangling from his fingers. And he knew it was pathetic to be jealous of a stupid cigarette, but Clifford was really starting to hate those things. He wasn’t even sure Ricky knew he was doing it, but the only time he ever smoked around Clifford was when he was trying to avoid letting Clifford get too close.

For the past few days Ricky had been smoking almost non-stop, and Clifford had a feeling he knew why. Still, there was this weird wall between them, and he hadn't been able to get past it no matter what he did. "So how'd you do on your essay?" he asked, more to break the silence than anything.

Ricky spared him a quick glance before turning his attention back to the sidewalk in front of him. "Alright."

"Alright? Is that a new grade or something?" Clifford asked, smiling when Ricky rolled his eyes. It was a stupid joke, but at least it had gotten him _some_ reaction. The silent treatment was starting to get really old, and he was getting a little desperate. "Can I see it?"

"Why?"

Clifford shrugged, not really sure how to answer. The truth was that he wasn't all that interested in reading an essay about a play he hadn't really gotten, but it was a subject Ricky seemed to enjoy and he was willing to try pretty much anything at this point. "Just curious."

Ricky cast a sidelong glance at him, but he didn't answer. They reached the Ambassador and he stamped out his cigarette in the ashtray out front before he followed Clifford inside. They made their usual detour to the bar to get a soda and say hi to Clifford's grandmother, neither of them saying anything else on the way up to the Peaches' suite.

When they got inside Clifford led Ricky to his room, dropping his books on his desk before he shrugged his jacket off. "It's getting kinda cold," he said, nodding in the direction of the patio. "You wanna stay inside today?"

Ricky just shrugged and pulled Clifford's chair away from his desk, turning it around to sit down backwards as he watched Clifford settle on the edge of his bed. When they were both situated Ricky reached into his jacket, pulling a roll of papers out of one of the pockets and handing it to Clifford.

He took it and carefully unrolled it, smoothing out the edges of the slightly wrinkled pages before he looked up at Ricky again. "She gave you an A?"

Ricky shrugged noncommittally, but Clifford caught the quirk at one corner of his mouth as he stifled a grin. "A minus."

Clifford just shook his head and looked down again, turning to the first page and beginning to read. Sure enough, Ricky had chosen to write about the difference between love and passion. He wasn't exactly surprised; he'd had a feeling when Ricky was talking about it that he'd given it a lot of thought. What he was surprised about was the way Ricky had written about it; he talked about the waste of Romeo and Juliet's lives, and he'd even put in the stuff he'd said about how young they were and how they didn't know each other well enough to decide they were in love in the first place.

He read Miss Jump's carefully written notes along the margins, smiling at the way she encouraged what she called Ricky's 'sensitivity'. She was right about that; Ricky was a sensitive guy, even though Clifford had a feeling he wouldn't get away with saying that out loud. Not to Ricky's face, anyway. He read the essay all the way through before looking up again, and when he did he found Ricky watching him with a mixture of fear and anticipation on his face.

"This is a great essay," Clifford said, heat creeping along his neck and ears at the words that fell far short of what he wanted to say. "I should have gotten you to help me. She only gave me a B."

"She probably just felt sorry for me."

The words made Clifford wince as though he'd been stung; that was exactly the way it felt whenever Ricky started putting himself down, but so far Clifford hadn't figured out a way to make him stop. The only way was to get Ricky to stop believing that stuff about himself, and Clifford knew how hard that would be. He wasn't planning to give up, though, not until Ricky didn't give him any other choice.

"Are you kidding? This was a great essay," Clifford repeated. "It's a lot better than mine, anyway. All I wrote about was how lame the feud was in the first place."

That made Ricky smile, and even though Clifford wasn't sure why he didn't really care. As long as Ricky was smiling because of something he said he was happy, whether Ricky was laughing at him or not. Ricky leaned forward and pulled the essay out of his hands, rolling it up and tucking it back into the recesses of his coat again.

"Well Miss Jump must have liked it, anyway," Clifford added when Ricky didn't say anything.

"I guess." Ricky shrugged as though he didn't really buy that, but he wasn't planning to argue with Clifford about it. "She's pretty cool. She's the only teacher who doesn't act like she's scared of me."

Clifford knew how the other kids treated Ricky, but he'd never stopped to think about how the teachers acted toward him. Most of Clifford's friends had gotten used to having Ricky around by now, but some of them still gave him a wide berth in the halls. He'd never imagined that the teachers might do the same, but given the rumors about Ricky he wasn't really surprised.

"That's just because they don't know you," Clifford said, but he knew it was a lame excuse. Judging by the look on his face Ricky knew it too, and Clifford couldn't help wincing when Ricky looked up at him.

"What, like you do?"

"Well, yeah," Clifford answered, frowning as he wondered when the conversation had taken such an abrupt turn. Ricky sounded almost angry, but Clifford had no idea what he'd said to set Ricky off. "We're friends, right?"

"You don’t know as much as you think."

He had no idea what that was supposed to mean, but he had a feeling it had something to do with the reason Ricky had been quieter than usual for the past few days. Ever since that day Clifford had asked him if he was interested in any girls he'd been acting weird – well, weirder than usual, anyway – and as much as he wanted to believe he knew why, Clifford wasn't sure anymore. All he knew was that Ricky was about to start feeling sorry for himself, and he wasn't going to sit there and listen to it.

"I know enough," he said, anger creeping into his voice. "I know you helped me out when you didn't have to. You didn't even know me then, it wasn't your problem. You could've just walked away, but you didn't. I know you're not as tough as you want everybody to think, even if you can fight when you have to. And I know the guy that wrote that essay," he added, leaning forward to tap Ricky's chest where he'd tucked the essay away.

"It's just a stupid essay. It doesn't mean anything."

There had been times over the few weeks they'd been friends that Clifford had wondered why he bothered with Ricky. Whenever the thought crossed his mind he reminded himself of all the reasons Clifford hadn't given up on him when Ricky had told him to, and most of the time that was enough to stop him from just throwing up his hands and walking away. He didn't always understand why Ricky was so jumpy; he still had no idea what the deal was with the scar on his wrist, or why there was a matching one on the other hand. He didn't know why Ricky got so freaked out whenever he caught Clifford looking at them, and he didn't know why Ricky couldn't just accept the fact that Clifford wanted to be his friend.

He didn't get a lot of things about Ricky, but that didn't stop him from wanting to understand. So he hung in there, and every day he gained just a little more insight into what made Ricky the way he was. His brother was the big thing, but there was more to it than that. He knew Ricky felt guilty about his father blaming himself for his brother, and he knew how hard it was for Ricky to watch his mother work so hard and worry herself into an early grave about him and his dad. He had no idea why Ricky's mom worried as much as she did about Ricky; all he knew was that it was just another thing to add to Ricky's list of things that he could blame himself for.

But watching Ricky sitting in his desk chair, his chin resting on the backrest and his arms folded in front of him, Clifford was having a hard time remembering why he was always so careful with Ricky's feelings. It wasn't fair that he had to hold back half of what he wanted to say just because it might make Ricky mad enough to leave. If he wanted to leave he should just go; sure, Clifford would worry, but he couldn’t run Ricky's life for him. He couldn't protect him from everything, no matter how much he wished he could.

"It means something to me," he said, the sound of his own voice surprising both of them in the silence of the room.

"What?"

"Your essay. It means something to me. All that stuff you wrote in there about love and knowing somebody before you put yourself on the line for them – that was about us, wasn't it?"

He hadn't really meant to say any of that, and he could tell by the look on Ricky's face that he hadn't been expecting to hear it. He'd been thinking it since he read the essay, though – since before he read it, really. Ever since that afternoon on the patio when Ricky had said all that stuff about passion Clifford had been thinking about what he meant, and there was a part of him that was positive that Ricky had been talking about them the whole time. He'd been trying to convince himself that he was crazy; that he was just hearing what he wanted to hear, but the thought wouldn't go away no matter how hard he tried.

Still, he hadn't planned to say it out loud, at least not like that. Then again, he said a lot of things before he really thought them through, and Ricky was used to it by now. Besides, Ricky hadn't actually denied it yet, which had to be a good sign.

"You're nuts."

"Probably," Clifford admitted, venturing a small smile. "But I'm right, aren't I? All that stuff about chemistry being the start of something bigger – you got that from me, didn't you?"

"So I took your idea," Ricky said, lifting his chin off his hands to stare at Clifford. "That doesn't mean anything."

And maybe it didn't mean anything that Ricky had borrowed something Clifford said for his essay, but he hadn't denied yet that there was something between them. He knew Ricky couldn't deny it, because they'd both felt it. Even if neither of them said it out loud or did anything about it, they both knew it was there. "Did you mean all that stuff you wrote? Is that why you told me about your brother, because you felt some kinda connection with me?"

"I told you that…" Ricky stopped talking and stood up abruptly, nearly knocking the chair over in his haste. "Forget it. This is dumb."

They both knew what happened next; Ricky made a dramatic exit and Clifford went after him, annoying him into finally admitting whatever he was keeping bottled up. He didn't feel like running after Ricky, though. He didn't feel like chasing him down the subway platform and having it out in broad daylight this time. He just wanted Ricky to stay put for once and face the fact that he might want something more than what he already had.

He caught up with Ricky as he reached the front door, sliding under Ricky's outstretched arm and pressing himself against the door before Ricky could pull it open. He expected Ricky to look angry, but instead he just looked tired. All Clifford wanted to do was take him back to his room and make him lie down until that haunted look went away, but he knew Ricky would never go for being babied.

"Get out of the way."

"Can't," Clifford answered with a lot more bravado than he felt. The truth was that he had no idea what he was doing; all he knew was that if he let Ricky walk out that door now that they might never get another chance like this. It was possible that Ricky would pull away from him entirely, and Clifford wasn't sure what he'd do if Ricky wasn't his best friend anymore. "You didn't answer my question."

"I'm serious, Cliff. Get out of my way."

Ricky's height had never bothered him; in fact, Clifford liked everything about the way Ricky looked, from his messy hair to his broad chest to that stupid Army jacket he always wore. He liked Ricky's smile and the way his hand stretched all the way across Clifford's lower back on the few occasions when Ricky had touched him that way to steer him in one direction or another. So he'd never really given much thought to the fact that Ricky was a foot taller than him, but at the moment he was wishing that Ricky was just a little bit shorter.

He'd never been one to back down from a challenge, though, so he raised himself up as high as he could and reached up to slide one hand around the back of Ricky's neck. He wasn't sure if it was shock or curiosity that kept Ricky from pulling away, but somehow he managed to pull Ricky almost all the way to him before Ricky reacted.

"What are you doing?" Ricky asked as he tensed against Clifford's hand, panic rising in his voice as he pressed back against the hand holding him in place.

Clifford wasn't really sure how to answer that question; he wasn't sure how 'trying to kiss you' would go over, but that was the only honest answer. Then again, talking was kind of overrated, so he tightened his grip a little more and managed to inch Ricky closer. He leaned up to try to compensate for the difference in their heights, but before he managed to make contact one of those hands he liked so much clamped down over his mouth.

Ricky's skin smelled like tobacco and industrial soap and axle grease, but it was warm and slightly rough against Clifford's skin and he couldn't help imagining what it would feel like on other parts of his body. That thought made his brain short circuit for a second, and by the time he regained control over himself Ricky was pulling his hand away. "Cliff, you don't know what you're…"

That was as far as he got before Clifford saw his opportunity and took it. He launched himself forward before Ricky had a chance to react, landing a brief, sloppy kiss on the corner of Ricky's mouth. It wasn't much, but it was enough to prove his point. At least he thought it was, and judging by his shell-shocked expression Ricky had gotten the message.

"What the hell was that?"

Or not. Clifford swallowed a sigh and reminded himself to be patient; he knew Ricky wasn't stupid, but sometimes he purposely didn't see the things that were right in front of him. "It was a kiss," he answered, grinning at Ricky's stormy expression. "I'm pretty sure I could do better, but you're not making it real easy here."

He'd been in this position exactly once before. The first time Ricky had him pinned against a wall was the night he'd told Clifford about his brother, and even though he'd been scared that night he'd been more than a little turned on. He was just as turned on right now, but he was just as scared too. He knew that any second Ricky could decide to push him out of the way and walk out of the hotel, and he had a feeling if that happened that Ricky wouldn't be back. If he stayed, though…well, if he stayed things could get very interesting.

It looked like Ricky was having a hard time figuring out why Clifford had kissed him, and he was torn between trying to explain how he felt and waiting for Ricky to work it out. Patience wasn't exactly one of his strong points, but pushing Ricky too much was the worst thing he could do. So he waited, his shoulders digging into the wood behind him as he watched Ricky's face for the moment when Ricky finally made his decision.

He had no idea how long they stood there; all he knew was that by the time Ricky finally broke the silence his back was beginning to ache a little from being pressed up against the door. The moment Ricky's hand landed on his waist he forgot all about the pain, and a second later he found himself being hauled forward. He turned his face up expectantly, but instead of the warm lips he expected he found himself staring into a pair of dark eyes.

"Why?"

There were so many possible answers for that question that Clifford wanted to laugh, but he had a feeling that would just make things worse. Besides, being pressed up against Ricky's solid body was distracting enough to keep him from focusing too hard on the question. "Because I wanted to. I thought you wanted me to."

And hadn't he been certain that Ricky wanted this just as much as he did? Now he wasn't so sure, and he couldn't remember anymore why he'd thought a single kiss was worth throwing away their friendship. It wasn't even a good kiss; mostly it was just awkward, and now he'd never get another chance to see what it was like.

Only Ricky still hadn't let go of him, and even though Clifford couldn't tell what he was thinking it was obvious that Ricky was trying to work something out. He relaxed as much as he could in Ricky's grip, giving him as much time as he needed. They hadn't even known each other for that long, but somehow Clifford knew the exact moment that Ricky made his decision. He only had a second to register the combined sensations of relief and fear before he was being pulled forward again, stopping abruptly when Ricky reached the arm of the couch and leaned against it. He probably wouldn't have thought of this, but he had to admit that it was a much easier angle to work with. Now that Ricky was sort of sitting they were almost eye to eye, and all Clifford had to do was turn his face up to meet Ricky's lips again.

Their second kiss was tentative, just a brush of lips on lips as they got used to the sensation. One of Ricky's hands still rested on his waist, the other splayed possessively across his back. Clifford leaned into Ricky's solid chest, his own hands resting on Ricky's shoulders. He had to remind himself not to push for more, at least not until he figured out what 'more' was. And he had no idea how people learned about that stuff, but they could figure it out together.

His heart stopped when Ricky pulled away from him, panicking for a second as he waited for Ricky to push him away. When he opened his eyes Ricky didn't look disgusted or even confused anymore, though; in fact, his expression was almost vulnerable. "Cliff…geez, this is crazy. You sure you know what you're doing?" he asked, and Clifford felt his heart skip a beat at the hope in Ricky's voice.

He started to say no, that he had no clue what he was doing, but judging by the way Ricky was looking at him the joke would just make things more complicated. Instead he just smiled and nodded, his fingers closing around the front of Ricky's jacket to pull him close again. He'd always figured knowing what he was doing was pretty overrated anyway, and as long as Ricky was in it with him he didn't really care. The important thing was that he wasn't running away, and if Clifford had anything to say about it he'd never have a reason to run again.


End file.
